


Wounds and Healing

by skekMal



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28154913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skekMal/pseuds/skekMal
Summary: skekMal gets wounded. His strong body heals fast, but someone helps him to heal too...
Relationships: skekMal/urVa (Dark Crystal)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Wounds and Healing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ryanglitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryanglitter/gifts).



There was only blood, flowing in small, rippling streams, staining the completely white and heartless snow with ruby droplets and waves.

  
The snow.

  
The last time he has seen snow was a long time ago. No, when he TOUCHED it. It was a long time ago. But now everything, every sensation, every snowflake, came to him with blinding clarity.

  
The snow.

  
And now, it was going red with his own blood, pouring from the wound. Rivulets. Circles. And drops.

  
He opened his eyes, pushing himself to do this, forcing himself, he knew that if he falls asleep now, in the white-ruby snow, injured and weak, he won't come back from this dream and the sight of white perfection will be his last one.

  
The small creatures were surrounding him, nuzzling his legs with their snouts, checking him, if he is still alive. They probably felt that he lost much of blood, they felt the rivulets. Circles. Drops.

"Curse it" he murmured, trying to drag himself into a more dignified position.

  
That was a bad hunt. Not thrilling, just bad. He by any means shouldn't be so reckless. He should calculate better, be wiser. Be the hunter.

  
Others, the other skeksis, as always glorifying him to the point of being laughable, would call it a recklessness of his youth, not minding that he chose the sharpest beast in the forest, not preparing himself well.

  
Each lesson taught him something important. During his forty trine of life, he made many mistakes, which he took in, took them, and absorbed like victories. He was even proud of some being able to be fixed, in time, be better at everything he does. He never forgot a mistake.

  
But this time, he had to admit, he was exceptionally stupid.

  
Managing to stand on his fours, he lashed his tail at the small animals latching at his feet. The beast which he slain laid just next to him, with a sharp jagged wound coiling around its throat. It took him as many minutes as he was old, to crawl from its heavy body, which was crushing him almost breathless.

  
Groaning slightly, he raised his head to meet the snow, it slowly started to gather on his face and fall down on the furs that were covering him.

  
The snow mixed with slight rain.

  
Move, skekMal or your injuries will soak even wetter.

  
Giving the last glance as the prey he finished, he dragged himself to the only hiding he knew was close enough to be his choice. The old tree trunk, hollow from inside, he was sometimes sleeping in, when he didn't manage to set a camp, or the weather was too damp.

Soon, he was falling into the pit of slumber, with the sleep of recovery. And between the dream and reality, between feeling pain and the absence of it, he felt as his body takes the duty of healing.

  
_You owe him, Hunter_ , was the last thought he managed to have until everything collapsed and his head flopped on his chest.

skekMal opened his eyes when the snow stopped falling and the rain washed away both the earth and the air which now smelled of trees, wet moss, and water.

  
The Hunter immediately checked his wounds. They seemed to heal properly and when he lifted the moss bandage from his flank, which he applied as soon as he removed the animals' weight from himself, no blood was flowing anymore.

  
He growled, both in unease and content. He was sure glad, that this was not his last hunt. Survival was for every skeksis such vital element, that even if skekMal allowed his thoughts accept he may die one day, he preferred to be the one who stands with one foot on the head of the slain animal.

  
But he knew that it was not only his strong body and will, which helped him to recover that fast. Maybe he was young, maybe he was sometimes reckless, but he wasn't stupid. There were two of them, always, when one was wounded, the second as well.

  
They got silent approval from each other. urVa maybe didn't accept many of his endeavors but never spoke a word, if not asked. He, on the other hand...

  
_You owe him, Hunter._

  
It was going to be a slow day, as slow as the preparation of hot green tea. But how could be otherwise?

His counterpart was sitting before the entrance to a cave, a good - and wise - choice in the coldness Thra offered now. He wasn't surprised by the sight of the Hunter like his visit was something most obvious.

  
skekMal sat next to him. urVa moved a bit aside but didn't speak, looking with this always oh-so-calm expression on his peaceful face. But for skekMal, it was enough and words could wait.

  
Sitting in one place was something skekMal had to learn, waiting for his prey to fall into traps or coming to the best place for him to attack them. He was not as good at it as the Archer, though. It came with the tension of muscles on his neck, and the itching of his tail.

  
None the less, sitting near urVa, while watching the world being possessed by white and blue, breathing chill air and feeling as his - their - strength comes back into their veins... it was something he yearned for every time he had a chance to.

  
A small rite of silence.

  
urVa, not asking, leaned against skekMal, his head laying on Hunter's shoulder.

  
"I am glad you feel well, skekMal."

  
The skeksis snorted.

  
"... I speak for both of us, of course. The pain that came while falling asleep, was an unpleasant but not unpredicted surprise."

  
"I was reckless like ten trine old gelfling" growled skekMal.

  
"We all are reckless. Sometimes it's the only way to learn not to be."

  
Ah, urVa. A stable rock in his turbulent life, a mystic not only by name but also philosophy.

  
Yet so different from the bunch in the valley. He even pondered, if they would go as far as to not help with the healing of their counterparts, like an odd way of protest against their craving for life.

  
But not urVa.

  
The pleasant heaviness of urru head on his shoulder was like a soft bandage on his aching body.

  
"Tell me, skekMal" mused urVa. "Have you learned something from your recklessness?"

  
"Yes. To not attack an animal with such heavy armor, without careful preparations. Very careful."

  
urVa smiled, looking into his face, a completely honest, open expression.

  
"That shouldn't be my interest, but I learned that if your hunts are successful, I feel... more alive."

  
"I thought you don't approve. Mystic ways of not harming a living being and other illusions."

  
"I may not like harming the life that inhabits Thra, that's true. But I feel powerless to stop you from hunting. So I accept it, as something like seasons of a trine and stream falling into a river.'

  
skekMal didn't reply. urVa was a mystic. Having him accept the hunt, was something going against his nature. But he still was happy to see him succeed, even if that meant dead of a Thra-born creature.

  
"One thing I am sure" the Hunter barked, but with a certain warmth in his voice.

  
"Yes?"

  
"As long as you live, I can be sure to never fall."

  
urVa put his head under skekMal's chin.

  
Soft soft caress, something that skekMal never understood well but welcomed just as much.

  
"Would you want to enter?"

  
"Would you want me to?"

  
"I invite you wholeheartedly, skekMal."

  
"You probably cook that tea of yours."

  
A light smile.

  
"This time, I have podling beer."

  
"Want to get me stoned?"

  
"Only warmed up."


End file.
